Beach House Bummer
by The Prince of Space
Summary: (Oneshot) Jimmy and Pete attempt to blow off steam after Jimmy is framed and expelled from Bullworth. (CW: Parental neglect, abuse, coarse language)


"That punk-ass bitch," Jimmy mumbled launching a small stone from his slingshot. Shattering the glass root beer bottles he had stacked.

It has been less than five hours since James Hopkins was officially expelled. He figured before he was thrown— er escorted of Bullworth Academy premises Jim would get out while the getting was good.

Retreating to the old lighthouse wasn't his first idea, but it was the most remote of the hideout options. If he was telling the truth at first the fear sank into his bones as he heard the words,' expulsion— immediate termination' exiting from Crabblesnitch's busted-ass face. It was fear first, then blood boiling rage from the vibrations of his nerves. Not that Hopkins would ever admit to it.

The lighthouse was exactly the safest place either— it felt like everyone who wasn't above 5"4 and named Pete Kolwaski had a hit on him. Townies, Jocks, Greasers, Preps— even the Nerds were gunning for him. Smith didn't just want Jimmy out of the school, he wanted him dead. Setting fire to the school gym? So many sets of eyes aching for someone to blame. Out here, all that he could hear was the sound of the bay water sloshing in, then drifting back out. He was envious. He just wanted to steal a boat and just watch the horizon of Bullworth shrink in the rearview mirror. The sea-salted air whipping around the house caused the curtains to sway.

The fantasy was nice… but he wasn't a coward. Jimmy Hopkins doesn't run away.

But what exactly would he call this?

Pete sat awkwardly on the couch watching Jimmy out of the corner of his eye, just as a precaution— just to make sure Hopkins didn't hurt himself. He twiddled his pencil, letting the eraser hit the paper. Pete wasn't necessarily trying to goad Jim's attention, but they did need to do their homework.

"Jimmy I know you're upset," Kowalski tried coaxing him, "About this whole Gary thing."

"I'm not upset Petey— I'm fucking pissed off!"

Sensitive was a word that matched Pete. He felt that he had toughed up his shell through befriending Jimmy, if only slightly. Though it was times like these when Jim was mad… he had this striking resemblance to Kowalski's father. The nostrils flared, that distant and glassy thousand-yard stare. That stupid infantilizing nickname.

Feeling his throat seize— Pete resigned himself to keeping damn his mouth shut. Helplessly he watched Jim pluck another rock from the pile he found on the sand bar outside the house.

Jim studied the stone in his hand. He ran his thumb across the jagged edge and took a deep breath in through his nose. He exhaled slowly, pursing his lips. Hopkins cocked his head slightly. This was not productive. Being an asshole to the one guy he had left on his side, the one person who just gets it— not productive. It wasn't like him and Pete were sharing heart-shaped lockets or anything, but he shouldn't have raised his voice.

Throwing the stone down at the pile— causing them all to topple over, Hopkins stood up rubbing his mouth. He didn't want to sound like an apology but he didn't want Pete mad at him either. What to do?

Jim started simply, "Could you just… turn on some music," he hesitated before adding, "Please?"

Hopkins admitted, "I'm starting to get a headache listening to my own thoughts."

"Uh, wh-what do you want me t-to put on, b-b-boss?"

"Enough with that…" he waved his hand dismissively at the title, "just put on something you like, anything is fine."

Pete thought for a second. That was very rare that someone asked him to do something like that. Especially people who hanged with Gary. Kowalski forgot sometimes that there were more people in the world than just Gary… though it certainly felt like no one else could exist without being suffocated under the weight of Gary's colossal ego. Pete put on something not too demanding- nothing that you could thrash to. Something that wouldn't cause any excess stress. It was music that Pete found himself listening to a lot, it wasn't that he couldn't stand hard rock- but being roommates with Gary Smith for so long had turned Kowalski away from metal. It was music that had no bile or bite. It was supposed to be comforting, Hopkins didn't need the comforting. It wasn't just that he was mad- like it was a fleeting pain that came on a wave and then departed back into the sea of his thoughts- he needed to be mad. Jimmy was typically always mad at himself.

Jimmy rounded the corner of the couch before plopping down in the end. Pete scooted to the opposite end almost immediately. He was running away? Hopkins had half a mind to be offended, but even he didn't want to be around himself when he was like this.

Pete glanced over to the pyramid of bottles, noting, "that's a shit ton of broken glass."

"Well I broke a shit ton of bottles," Jimmy replied without missing a beat.

Kowalski tuned into the venom that Jim had, but it wasn't aimed at him. It was more like it was aimed at anyone who could hear it. Like he was mad at the world.

"Did that make you feel better?"

Hopkins scrunched his nose and turned to say something burned his tongue— he wanted to return what was so obviously was a jab at his coping skills, he wanted to lash back with only a drop from the reserves of anger he had locked tightly in his rib cage… but then he saw how big and round— and genuine Pete's eyes were.

All Pete could see was Jimmy opening and closing his mouth rapidly. As if he were stroking out or something. Like his blood pressure finally got too high and he was keeling over. Kowalski knew that Jim was way too young for that but it didn't help his paranoia. Finally Jimmy muttered, "Yeah."

"I— I'm glad…" was all Pete could find to say. Was he glad he wasn't broken into a million pieces on the beach house floor? Would Jimmy even do that?

Hopkins observed the confused expression forming on Pete's face,"... my mom would say that."

"Your mom?" Kowalski asked redundantly. Of course, he had a mom— of course, he had parents. How else would anyone at this school be here unless they had wealthy parents to fuck them up?

"When I was… angry I wouldn't really know how to process it without breaking shit… and she'd always wait until after I was done— I guess she got tired of trying to stop me… but she would just— she'd just fucking sneer at me."Jimmy rubbed his hand over his buzzed head, then pulling at the bags under his eyes. He parroted his mother's voice with the heavy smoker grit, "now did that make you feel better breaking all that good China? I hope you know I'm not cleaning that up."

Pete could only stare as James was proceeding to unload. He was laughing sure, but his eyes were bleary and reddened.

"She wouldn't even ask what was bothering me… like she just thought normal fucked up kids break shit without reason."

"My dad… he'd uh… take off his belt and smack the shit out of me," Kowalski admitted, feeling that it was unfair that only one person was baring his soul.

Jimmy wasn't quite sure what to say next— he couldn't deflect that bullet. He couldn't snark that pain away. Blinking Jimmy felt himself stutter for the first time in a long while. He thought Pete's dad was just some librarian... His brain was on rapid-fire on how to make this situation better," Th—T-T-Th-that's fucked up man."

His anger dissolved into guilt froze into concern for Pete's safety. Which was unusual. Why Jim give a shit about some nerdy kid who followed him around like a stray puppy? He wanted to say it was the initial shock of the information… but it had to be more than that. He sniffled the coughed, wiping his nose, "that's super fucked man."

Pete kind of shrugged, "I guess, I just thought you…"

"thought I what?" He asked not in a demanding way but softer than he normally would.

"I just kind of figured you knew what that was like…" Pete treaded carefully with his words," you're always standing up for people weaker than you— you're nice in a cryptic way… you had this 'I probably got beat by my dad' vibe."

He thought that they were alike? Perhaps he was so used to being critiqued by his mom he couldn't really recognize through Pete's awkwardness that maybe they were similar. Jimmy snorted.

"...Uh yeah- I'm sorry for assuming that," Kowalski rubbed at his elbow, feeling how sweaty his palm was through his button-up.

Jimmy shrugged, "If I spent every day worrying about what other people thought then I wouldn't go anywhere," he then added toying with his earring," I mean I'm pretty sure I assumed worse things." Propping his leg up on the couch he had turned to face Pete," I don't know if you've noticed but I kind of have a habit of assuming the worst and still somehow being proven wrong."

Kowalski, on the other hand, kept looking forward really unable to give Jim so much as a side-wise glance because he would more than likely burst into tears at any moment. He mustered up a stiff laugh. He tried just focusing on his notebook because it felt as if every time he opened his mouth he was somehow being bothersome. Repeating the equations in his head over and over, Pete couldn't focus like this. He couldn't focus, with Jim being that close. Faking a yawn," I'm gettin' some serious math fatigue… you wanna take a crack at a couple of these?"

"Aren't you a year ahead of me?"

"Doesn't mean I am academically," Kowalski gestured to his notes which were very fine and thin," this all looks like greek to me."

James remarked facetiously, "Actually I think numbers were derived from Arabia."

"Ha Ha," Pete was glad that Hopkins kept his lid on, for the most part at least- Jim certainly appeared calmer, despite his tensed jaw and his unfocused gaze. The homework was at least a distraction that kept the boys as close to normal as they could be at the moment. Jim took the pencil from the coffee table clasping the eraser end between his teeth and scanned over the numbers. Algebra was neither of the pair's strongest subject which is why they often worked on it together back at the dormitory.

All that filled the room was the quiet acoustic song on the radio and faint sounds of scribbling from the pencil against the notebook paper.

He kept swallowing down this knot in his throat, Pete was certain that Jim could easily overpower him- but there was no reason for him to- they are friends. They are good friends. Jim would never do anything to hurt someone who didn't deserve it.

Pete thought on that for a moment; he did deserve it.

Gary wouldn't have started anything with Jimmy if Pete had just kept his mouth shut, this whole school-wide war could have been prevented if Pete just didn't exist. If he just curled up and died. There was a voice in the back of his head that didn't belong to Gary, and it didn't belong to his dad, but this voice just told him how much he didn't deserve to have this quiet moment in this lighthouse. He didn't deserve the peace for all the trouble he caused.

"Y'know, you're staring at the floor? It's really weirdin' me out, dude."

"Huh?" Pete glanced at Jim who was staring at him from the side of the notebook which for the most part was pressed against his thighs for writing.

He attempted to brush it off, curling his lips to form what a smile should look like, "Sorry, I was spacing out."

"Pete, you don't get to apologize so much."

"..."

"You were going to say 'sorry' again, weren't you?"

Pete chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, "The important part is that I stopped myself."

The room was ignited briefly with laughter, Jim accidentally nudged Pete's bicep with his foot. A jump was sent through Kowalski's nerves, but he eased realizing that it was just Jimmy.

All too soon the laughter evaporated in the empty beach house. Jesus Christ- what was wrong with him?

Out of nowhere, Jim said seriously, "You're welcome to stay the night- uh, I can have anyone I want here since I won this place off of those silver spoon snots." He had trouble being sincere and looking at people in the eyes while he was trying- otherwise, he thought he would intimidate them and creep them out.

"Uh… I-er that's real nice of you Jim, but I gotta head back to my folks' house- and I'm already pretty late and I-"

Jimmy threw down the notebook, "You're not seriously gonna go back to there, to your dad, right?"

Struggling for an answer Pete sunk his teeth into his cheek, drawing waves of copper into his mouth, "Jim… It's worse if I stay It's worse if I go… no matter what I do… I can't win. I don't... " Pete's hand grasped around his own collar as if he was drowning in the air," I don't belong anywhere."

"Pete…"

Kowalski ran his hand through his hair, "You know why I was sent here though… to the Academy? Like, haven't you ever wondered what I did that was so bad that wound up with me here?"

Jimmy didn't say anything, but it was almost like he knew before he even said it.

"They just- didn't want me around. Like who says that to a kid?"

"More people than you would like to think," Jim reflected bitterly, his head slumping against the couch, watching Pete's chest heave with the strained breaths he was taking. Hopkins was wary to touch him- he didn't want him to break apart and have an anxiety fit.

Jim mumbled, "I know what it's like to not be wanted." He scooted closer to Pete, "I would feel like shit if I sent you out there and you got jumped by Gary or one of his goons, and I don't think I could live with myself if you went back to your dad's."

"... are we friends?" Pete finally asked, his tongue burning trying to form the words he tried so hard to keep back.

"I'd certainly fucking hope so."

It was then with the two boys finally staring at each other: it finally clicked. Whether he was a bully or he was an outcast… neither of them had a true friend before. At least no one they could share themselves completely with. To open up and then completely shatter like a rock through the sugar glass of a soda bottle.

Pete suddenly took ahold of Hopkins' shoulder, almost pleading with him, "Jimmy I swear to god I'm gonna fix this."

"You got a habit of just taking everyone else's burdens huh?" Jim cocked a brow, trying to convince them both to smile because God knows they need to do that more.

"Look," Pete insisted somewhat jokingly," I'm not gonna feel better unless you kick my ass or something."

"That sounds counterproductive."

"That's a five-dollar word, James Hopkins."

"And you're a five hundred dollar moron," Unconsciously the pair of them had been inching closer to each other on the sofa. Jim wasn't particularly bothered by the closeness.

Kowalski felt his heart hitch when Jimmy's arm suddenly sling over his shoulders. He had constant mantra cycling through his brain, this is okay, this is okay, this is okay—'

"Pete you know, you may be a bit of a dork." Jimmy began, he noticed how Pete's eyes suddenly hit the floor and then bored right into him, "But when I inevitably get arrested for vandalism, arson— whatever— there's no one else I would want to make my alibis with."

Want. Pete blinked, feeling his eyes stinging from the salt in his tears. Many words floated around in the air but just out of reach, as if he was short-circuiting. He could only sputter and fragment his words.

Hopkins pressed his forehead into Pete's, "There's nothing that can stop us when we put our heads together." He places his hand on Pete's nape squeezing the back of his neck comfortingly, "Those assholes are gonna be checking under their beds for us, okay?"

Heart in his ears, Pete could only nod. His teeth grit together, trying to force out the tears so he could drain the feelings away. He just wished he could just go brain dead— be lobotomized, be committed to Happy Volts and just stop crying like twerp he was. Something! Pushing the thoughts of being by Jimmy's side away, far— far away.

The lesson Pete learned since day one is that anyone you could trust will ultimately wind up hurting you, and the second came at the hands of Gary. The second lesson was an affirmation of the first with the added footnote of no one could care for a fucking freak like him?

Jimmy eventually let go. Going back to picking the loose paper rings on the notebook. He finally came out and offered, "Do you wanna stop wallowing with me and play some darts? I might actually let you win."

He just moved so fast— too fast. In an instant, the warmth of Jim's arm around him had vanished. Pete let go of his own collar of his pink button-up.

There was an old movie Johnny Vincent watched on repeat in the dorms. In the movie there was this guy, James Dean who moved to this town, trying to get a new slate. Bad parents, left him alone.

Yeah, Pete thought it was oddly familiar too.

Though the strangest thing was, as Pete kept watching— he thought that clearly that It was a love story. Though James Dean wasn't interested in the schoolgirl character, but rather the first friend he met his first night in jail, Plato.

Pete was certain that had to be a love story, but he couldn't put his finger on as to why. The movie ended with James Dean giving Plato his jacket before Plato was shot to death.

There was something about the way the men just looked at each other— as if they were the only people in the world.

For the briefest time in between one hour and fifty-two minutes span, Pete could see himself, not fully but skewed enough with a rose-colored mirror. Then he was reminded that there were no happy endings, at least for people like him.

When the movie was over Pete felt half-empty, but Johnny Vincent swore it was a great American classic.

Kowalski watched Jimmy yank darts out of the circular board. He barely said above a whisper before shutting the textbooks, "Just like James Dean and Plato."

"Did you say something, Pete?"

"Uh, I just— want me to change the music?"

Jim brushed some of the glass away with his sneakers," I actually kind of like this."


End file.
